Bachlor Pad
by cagd
Summary: Season 5 Spike finds himself unexpectedly stuck with uninvited guests when Glory goes looking for the Key...


So Buffy's dumped  
Her responsibilities  
On you  
Without warning-  
Bloody hell and  
You were in  
The middle  
Of your stories  
And she comes poundin'  
On the soddin' door  
And when you  
Open it  
She shoves them  
At you saying,  
"If you let anything  
Happen to my mother  
And my sister, so  
Help me Spike  
I'll kill you."  
Which is  
A bloody  
Stupid  
Thing  
To  
Say  
Because you're  
Already dead,  
Been so  
For the last  
125 years  
…maybe…  
Because you  
Lost track  
Down in  
The Initiative's  
Now long-buried  
Funhouse  
And your  
Nut's not been  
All that reliable  
Since then.  
Anyway, now they're  
Sitting awkwardly  
In your crypt  
Staring at you  
Without staring,  
Or at least trying  
To and you're  
About to die  
A second death  
Of embarrassment  
Because the place's  
Disgusting,  
Not a fit place for a lady.  
Ladies.  
Does the Niblet count?  
All right,  
Two bitable birds  
And leave it at that:  
Sod.  
You.  
Buffy.  
(Lucky Dru's not  
Here which would  
Mean you'd have  
To pull her off your  
Guests, uninvited as  
They are.)  
So you sit across  
From them  
On the twin  
To the saracophagus  
They sit upon,  
With you hoping  
That Joyce hasn't  
Noticed the  
Overflowing  
Beer cans full  
Of butts,  
The empty fly-buzzing  
Blood bags,  
Or the pile of  
Dirty magazines,  
You know,  
Wank fodder,  
Peeking out  
From under the  
Pile of two week's  
Worth of dirty clothes.  
Anyway, your mother  
Taught you how to  
Be a host, sick  
Old bag hag that she  
Was, so you know  
You should offer  
Them something,  
Anything-  
But at the moment  
Stale ice cubes and  
Half a bottle  
Of Wild Turkey  
Is all you have.  
That and the  
Wheat-A-Bix  
That the rats  
Haven't found yet.  
(Though you could  
Use a rat right now,  
A nice fat pisser  
To settle  
Your nerves.)  
So you drum  
Your heels  
On the sarcophagus  
That you're perched  
Upon and try out  
The small talk mode.  
Joyce, whose  
Eyes are darting  
Nervously  
In all directions,  
Pauses on your  
Collection of  
Wank magazines  
Long enough for you  
To blush  
Were you  
Still capable  
Of such a thing  
Before darting away  
To something safer  
Like the overflowing  
Butt cans, answers  
Politely but distantly.  
Great.  
Just.  
Great.  
You've been to  
Her house and  
Now it's your turn  
And she's not  
Happy about it  
But desperately trying  
Not to show it.  
Dawnie's been here  
Before and also  
Trying not to show  
It because God forbid  
Anybody find out –  
But you've smelled  
Her in here before that  
_One_ time and  
She's always eating  
Your crisps, even  
The nasty avocado garlic  
Ones or stealing  
Your remote.  
You approve  
Of Dawnie's  
Sticky fingers,  
But you wish  
She'd leave  
The telly alone  
Because she's  
Always-  
Oh God, forgot  
About the telly,  
Which is yammering  
At the top of its  
Electric lungs  
And now it's  
_Passions_ time,  
Your favorite  
Story, complete  
With Timmy and  
That soddin' cat  
Whose name you  
Always forget.  
Why couldn't you  
Have left the daft bugger  
Switched to that  
Pirated sports channel?  
God, this is humiliating,  
Buffy!  
You'll!  
Pay!  
For!  
This!  
Worse, you want to  
Watch your story,  
It's getting interestin'…  
Bloody Hell  
And I'm stuck mindin'  
Buffy's grotty  
Relations!  
Joyce stands up  
And says, "Is  
That _Passions_?  
I love _Passions_!  
May I watch it?  
I tape it every day  
When I'm at the gallery  
So I don't miss a thing!"  
Huh?  
Startled, you say,  
"Yeah, right.  
Was gonna to catch the  
Scores, but I can do that  
Later."  
And Joyce  
Sits down on  
Your ratty couch  
With the Niblet and  
Her schoolbooks  
In tow – "Dawnie,  
This may be a bad  
Time for everyone,  
But I want you to finish  
Your homework anyway."  
Dawnie grizzles  
But she sets up shop  
On your battered  
Coffee table and  
Gets to work,  
One eye on the telly.  
After a while you join them  
And it's nice  
To have company,  
Even if it's only  
Buffy's relations,  
Dumped on you.  
You even manage  
To scrounge up  
A couple of Cokes  
And a bag of crisps  
That you'd lost  
Beneath your ratty  
Old sofa.  
And it's nice to  
Have someone  
Who likes the same  
Story you like  
Even if it's only  
Buffy's Mum,  
With the Niblet  
In tow.  
Buffy finds you  
Later that day,  
Feet up  
On the coffee  
Table, the Niblet  
Asleep with her head  
On Mum's lap  
While the two  
Of you devour the  
Afternoon's soaps.  
The two of you  
Give Buffy a look  
And sort of laugh,  
And Buffy says,  
"What!"  
And the two of you  
Laugh again, before  
Joyce says goodbye  
And thanks you for  
The Coke,  
While Buffy stews  
And fidgets.  
She says  
After they  
leave, "If I hear  
That you tried something,  
Anything, Spike, you're  
So dead!"  
Again with the dead,  
Eh pet?  
You laugh  
Suggestively,  
While slamming  
The door  
To your crypt  
In her face.  
Then  
You park it  
On the couch  
Once more,  
Rewind the VCR,  
Open a beer,  
And watch the  
Day's eppie of_  
Passions _once more,  
Unusually content.


End file.
